


Love, In Itself

by flowersforgraves



Series: please help I'm in depeche mode hell [35]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Profanity, M/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: They're in Rocco's girlfriend's apartment, which is mostly awkward and only sort of comfortable. The couch, however, is just fine for having a proper conversation.





	Love, In Itself

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](https://smallfandomfest.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](https://smallfandomfest.dreamwidth.org/)**smallfandomfest** \-- prompt phrase was "ties that bind".

Connor’s wrists hurt. 

Connor’s wrists hurt, because when you’ve cut your wrists near to the bone they take more than a week or two to heal. He’d been fucking lucky to retain full range of motion in his dominant hand and only lose a little bit in the other, a fact he’s reminded of every time he strains the muscles that are still knitting back together. Murphy’d bitched about tying Connor’s shoes for him, of course (“we stopped doing this in fucking grade school, Conn, can’t believe you’re actually five years old”), but they’d both been worried about Connor healing properly. But three weeks later, the twins are curled up together on Rocco’s girlfriend’s couch, with Murphy pressed warm against Connor’s chest and Connor’s arms wrapped around Murphy’s waist.

Murphy stretches up to kiss Connor on the mouth. “You want ice or something?”

“Nah,” Connor says. “I’ll get a tylenol before we go out, it’ll be fine.” He never needs to tell Murphy he’s hurting, because Murphy already knows -- sometimes before Connor knows himself. 

His twin gives him a look, but settles back down comfortably. “At least change the fuckin’ channel. Don’t give a shit about the fucking Cincinnati team, whatsername. Red something.”

Connor doesn’t bother replying, just flicks through the local news and sports channels until he finds a cooking show that doesn’t look horrible. He knows Murphy doesn’t like cooking shows, but he’s enough of an asshole to purposely put it on since Murphy hadn’t specified what he’d prefer. He finally has to shift his grip on his twin, the ache in his right wrist intensifying to a dull throbbing. He’s absolutely not going to admit Murphy’d probably been right about needing ice or heat, but the pain is sharper now and he doesn’t know how well he’ll be able to handle a gun right now.

He’s rubbing the scar on his right wrist absentmindedly. It’s quickly become a habit, despite actively trying not to touch the healing wounds. He blows out a breath, sighing noisily, and feels Murphy shift against him. 

“You shouldn’t’ve done it,” Murphy mumbles. 

“Hmm?” Connor forces his hands to stillness. _Mustn’t touch. Takes longer to heal._

“I said you shouldn’t have done it,” Murphy repeats. “Shouldn’t have fuckin’. Fucking torn up your wrists.”

Connor blinks, dumbfounded. “You would’ve died, Murph.”

“I know,” he says. “But -- Conn, that fall should have killed you. Five fucking stories. I thought you were dead, for a minute.”

Connor wraps his arms tighter around his twin. “You’re my fuckin’ brother,” he says. “It was my fault we were in the mess anyway, and you needed me, of fucking course I’m going to come get you.”

Murphy presses his face into Connor’s chest. “You could’ve died. ‘S not worth it.”

“Murph.” Connor takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “I -- fuck, brother. I couldn’t have just stayed. They were going to fucking kill you. Execute you like, like some animal. There was something I could do to stop it, so I fucking did it.”

“I know,” Murphy says, a trace of frustration lancing through his voice. “I fucking _know_ , Connor. That’s not my point.”

“Then what is your point?” Connor’s getting heated, but he’s trying to stay calm. They’re getting better about communicating, but it’s fucking hard.

“My point,” Murphy says, biting off the end of the phrase, “my _point_ , is that you shouldn’t have done something you knew would almost for sure kill you for me.”

“What the fuck,” Connor says. “Murph, what the fuck? You’re my _brother_ ,” he says again.

Murphy twists so he can look Connor in the eye. “I was scared,” he admits. “I thought you -- I thought I was gonna lose you. And I can’t -- I can’t do that, Conn.”

Connor brings his left hand up to grip his own hair, twisting it painfully around his fingers. “Murphy, I can’t -- I couldn’t have lived without you.” He shuts his eyes, brow furrowing. “I -- We’re not supposed to be apart. The two halves of a whole thing, the soulmate thing, that’s bullshit, but our Lord wouldn’t have given us to each other if we weren’t supposed to be together. I don’t -- I’d rather have died tryin’ to save you than lived knowing there was the slightest chance I could have done something.”

“Hey. Hands.” Murphy reaches up to disentangle Connor’s left hand. “Don’t hurt yourself.” That settled, he props himself up with an elbow digging painfully into Connor’s ribs. “Now. Shut the fuck up, Connor, and listen to me for once in your fucking life. _I can’t lose you_. I can’t, brother. Couldn’t have lived with myself if you’d died for me. I don’t want to be without you either.” He pauses. “And while I’m glad you’re finally doing something for yourself, couldn’t you have picked _anything_ besides dying first?”

Murphy’s smile is small and sad, but Connor returns it as much as he can anyway. “I was being selfish, yes, but so are you,” he points out. “But look, Murph, we’re twins, but we’re not the same person. One of us has got to die before the other. ‘S just logical sense.”

“An’ I don’t fuckin’ want to be the one left over!” Murphy snaps.

“Neither do I, you retard, that’s my fucking point!” Connor tries half-heartedly to pull his hand out of Murphy’s grip to get back in his hair, but there’s no real effort. “And the selfish shit wasn’t me trying to do myself in, it was me trying to make sure you didn’t die. You’re -- good. You’re good, Murph, and a good man shouldn’t have to die for something I did.”

“You didn’t listen,” Murphy complains. “I told you to fucking listen, you bastard, and you didn’t. I didn’t, don’t, want to watch you die. And you don’t want to watch me die either, so we’ll just have to make sure we go down together, yeah?”

Connor squeezes his brother’s hand tight for a brief moment. “Yeah. I guess.” 

“‘Kay,” Murphy says, but he doesn’t lay back down. Instead he just stares at Connor with a soft expression on his face that Connor can’t help but enjoy.

“Fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters. “Come down here and kiss me, will you?”

Murphy grins. “If you insist,” he says, letting go of Connor’s hands and making himself comfortable. 

Their mouths meet halfway.


End file.
